


Count to Three

by BlodkruWrites



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not A Fix-It, Not A Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlodkruWrites/pseuds/BlodkruWrites
Summary: The Ark has incredibly fucked up ways of controlling the population.Clarke experiences the affects first hand. Diana Sydney is now Chancellor. Clarke has a chance to save herself and be free of her crimes. All she has to do is make it through three times.But at what cost?---------------------Based on the song Russian Roulette by Rihanna.





	1. Take the Gun

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before canon, on the Ark.  
> This is all for my favorite mutual on tumblr @and-now-youre-home (aka Ash). I decided to be nice for once and upload the first part today. 
> 
> Well, I hate myself for writing this. I hope you enjoy it.

The Ark has incredibly _fucked_ up ways of controlling population.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, not really. Considering anyone could be floated for nearly anything.  
  
Even for being born.

So why is it so shocking and terrifying when the guard tells Clarke she’s being moved. It’s only weeks before her eighteenth birthday. It wouldn’t be unheard of for the people in charge rushing ahead sentencings. _Executions_ , she thinks as she’s half dragged down the white halls. Ever since Diana Sydney became Chancellor… She doesn’t know when exactly the election happened. Or how she won. But she did and things changed so much it gave Clarke whiplash in her cell. It could have only been months that she was in charge. In the past few weeks, the prison has been overflowing. Men, women, _children_ all sent away before they could be sentenced. If not floated immediately. She’d heard from guards whispering. Just last week there were eight people floated. She didn’t hear what their crimes for, but they were sentenced to death in minutes.

Even her dad had just a little more time.

Clarke supposes the reason for so many deaths was because of the oxygen. It was running out exponentially. Especially because of that damn Spacewalker. Three months of oxygen was gone from just that mess. She’s never met the boy. Probably for the best; she’d hit him at least once. But she’s not better than him, in the eyes of the Chancellor and council. She’s probably worse. If it weren’t for her age, she’d be dead. It was that simple.

The sound of a struggle rips Clarke from her thoughts. She turns her head and can’t help the yell she lets out. “Mom!” Abby Griffin is being held back by three guards. She’s punching and shoving as Clarke is dragged past her. “Mom!” Clarke tugs _hard_ against her restraints.

“Clarke!” Abby is being pulled in the opposite direction. The fear in her mother’s eyes goes straight to Clarke’s gut. Something is horribly wrong. “Clarke, you’ll be okay. I love you!” Abby’s mouth is covered and pulled back again.

“Mom!” Clarke’s throat is dry. Her guards tug on her arms so hard she feels like they were pulled from their sockets. She lets them pull her away as Abby is gone from view. For the briefest second, Clarke can see Diana Sydney behind her. It takes seconds for anger to build in her. Then she’s shoved around a corner and they’re both gone. Along with the air from Clarke’s lungs as she’s pushed forward. Part of her is prepared to fight; the other part is prepared for the worst.

But somehow, she’s still surprised when she’s dragged to a room. She’s memorized the hallway since birth and knows this room is too close to the float chamber. If she were to just turn down the hall and take a right… For a moment she considers fighting. It’s proved useless when her guards only tighten their grips on her arms. It’s enough to bruise. She has a sickening feeling it won’t matter for long.

They toss her into the room.

Clarke barely has time to catch herself before she’s hitting the ground. They didn’t uncuff her. Her arms take most of the impact. She feels the metal digging and cutting into her skin. Her eyes prickle with tears as she struggles to sit up. She’s definitely bleeding. The tiny cuts leak and stain her pale skin as she struggles. In an insane thought, she considers covering the bleach white walls in her blood. It’s almost blinding in here. Her going insane would be expected. She spent nearly a full year in isolation, never leaving her cell. The only person she’d seen was the helmet of a guard through her door window. But she doesn’t. She sits back and realizes she’s not alone.

There’s a boy - man? - in the room too. He’s sat at the lone table in the room. Clarke is sure she’s never seen him before. She would remember the dark curls atop his head and the freckles lining his cheeks. If this was under any normal circumstance, and a year ago, she’d ask to draw him. But it’s not. The way he looks at her with contempt is proof enough. Clarke doesn’t move as they stare each other down. The darkness of his eyes reflects in her glass blue ones. Whatever they’re here for, it’s not good.

“Are you going to get up?” His voice rings in her ears. It’s the first time someone’s spoken to her in months that isn’t a guard. It shatters the quiet that has been her world. It takes her a minute to come up with an answer.

“Are you going to help me?” She says. She raises her cuffed arms. The stranger makes no move to help. She huffs as she hauls herself up using the only empty chair. It takes more effort than she’d like to admit. When Clarke does manage to get on her feet, she takes a good look at the room. Everything is white: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the table, even the chairs. There’s only one thing not white in the room. There’s a two-way window along one wall. Her eyes narrow as she looks at it. The stranger seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“They’re watching. The Council.” He says with too much ease. It sends a unwelcome feeling down Clarke’s spine.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” Clarke turns to glare at him. They’ve been in the same room for less than five minutes and he’s already frustrating. He can see the annoyance on her face. He sighs. “They’re watching how we interact. What we say to each other.”

“Why?”

“Is that all you say?”

Definitely frustrating. Clarke turns back to the mirror. He said the Council was watching. Did that include her mother? Did her mother have any say in her being there? Was she even on the Council anymore? She feels the need to reach out and touch the glass. The warning sound the stranger gives makes her take a step back. Clarke reluctantly steps back again and sits herself in the empty chair. She’s sitting across from him now. Trying to decipher his expression was almost like trying to read a dead language. Like Greek. His jaw was set hard and his eyes were unwavering intensity. His hands weren’t cuffed, she noted. Hers still were.

“My name is Clarke.” She says.

He rolls his eyes and sits back. “I know, _princess_. You’re the doc’s daughter.” She doesn’t miss the malice. Clearly, he is no fan of hers or her mother. “And it’s better we don’t know anything about each other. Makes it easier.”

Clarke tugged at her wrist restraints as he spoke. “Makes what easier? Why are we in here?” She tugs her aching wrists apart one more time. Still no use. It’s more frustrating than the guy in front of her. She slams her cuffs down against the table with a deafening thud. The stranger jumps back a little; clearly he didn’t think she’d do that. She wonders how he can appear so calm. So controlled. Her nerves are alive and aching to know what the hell is going on.

They both jump back when the sound of the door opens again. Clarke looks between him and the door as a guard enters. They’re carrying a single white box barely big enough to hold anything. Both of them are silent as the guard sets the box down on the table. They turn to Clarke and wait. She’s suddenly shaking and can’t move. The guard is annoyed and yanks hard on her arms.

They unlock her cuffs before leaving; the cuffs with them.

Clarke stares at the door as she rubs her raw and blotchy wrists. Her hands look disgusting with her dried blood. It look like she dipped her hand in rust.

“That’s why it’ll be easier.” The stranger says. He’s looking at the box in between them. Clarke turns and watches him open it. Her eyes widen and her breathing stops. She’s sure her own heart stops as well as all sound in the room. He lifts the lid to the box. Clarke nearly jumps out of her seat.

The stranger lifts the gun and aims it directly at her.

“What the hell are you doing!” Clarke is pressed up against the wall. As far away from the stranger as possible. Her eyes are fixated on the barrel of the gun. The stranger looks almost bored as he keeps his aim steady. Clarke realizes she’s trembling and can hear her heart in her ears. “Put-put it down. Please.” Her hands are up and she’s still trying to press herself into the cold walls. For the briefest second her eyes flicker to the door. There’s no way to open it from inside. If there really are people on the other side of the window, they aren’t going to help her.

No one is.

“My name is Bellamy.” He says. His eyes never leave her, pining Clarke in place. “Does knowing my name make it this any easier?” He cocks the gun. Clarke ducks and plants herself against the ground. The gun makes an echoing _‘click’_. Then another. And another. And another. It clicks five times before there’s any other sound. It’s a soft fizzling. Clarke stays on the ground, counting the seconds. It’s only when she hears Bellamy put the gun back on the table does she dare to look up. He’s sitting back in his chair now, looking at the window.

“What was that?” Clarke’s throat is suddenly dry. She wants to sound angry but it comes out as choked up. “What the hell was that?” She manages to get back onto her feet. He’s not saying anything now. Clarke isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad sign. The gun lays on the table. It’s white like everything else in this god forsaken room. Clarke has only ever seen a gun one time. One of the guards had pulled it out momentarily when a prisoner had tried to escape. They hadn’t fired it but it was chilling to see the guard standing so still with a gun aimed at a person. She hasn’t seen that guard or gun in months. “Bellamy.”

That gets him to look at her. He looks at her with the same dark look. “What?” He says. There’s something in his tone now. If Clarke could guess, it was almost remorse. Almost. His tough facade has melted away like her resolve.

“What is this? Why are we here?” She motions around the room and to the gun. “You aren’t going to shoot or kill me. You wasted the bullet.” Clarke is trying to even out her breathing. “So why are we here?”

Bellamy looks a little taken aback. He can’t tell how serious Clarke is. “They really didn’t tell you why you’re here, did they?” Clarke shakes her head. Bellamy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. “Have you ever heard of the game Russian Roulette?” The way he says it makes Clarke not want to know. She shakes her head again. “It’s a game with only one winner.”

Clarke shrugs her shoulders. “Okay? All games have one winner.” The games she’s played anyways. Bellamy looks just as done with her as she feels about the whole situation.

“No, Clarke. In this game there is _only_ the winner.” He makes a gun motion with his fingers, placing them to his temple. Clarke’s eyes go wide. Bellamy fakes pulling a trigger and makes a clicking sound. _Oh_. “There are no bullets in this specific gun. It’s like an oversized taser. Except the charge will fry your brain in seconds instead of blowing it up. There’s one charge and at least six blanks. Completely random.”

“One winner.” Clarke whispers. She feels sick. Bellamy nods and sighs heavily. She feels like she might throw up as the reality of the situation hits her. Her breathing is caught in her throat and her fingers tremble. “They-,” She looks at the window, “they want us to pull the trigger on ourselves? Until there’s only one of us?” He confirms it with the slightest of nods. “And you know all this, how?”

“What does it matter? We’re here so just play the game. One of us will get out of here.” He’s hiding something. In the way he keeps himself confined to the chair and won’t move his hands from his pockets.

Clarke feels near nauseous. “And the other will die. This isn’t right.” She shakes her head and goes right up to the window. “They can’t just watch us play this sick game. There has to be something we can do or say.” She turns to look at Bellamy. He’s looking at her like she’s lost all senses. She refuses to even entertain that she has; she knows this isn’t right. A thought trickles its way into her mind. It’s revolting and leaves a chill deep in her nerves. She takes a stumbling step back and covers her mouth with her hands. Her back collides with the window with a quiet thud as she stares at Bellamy. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yes.”

It echoes. It echoes in the room they occupy. In the small space between them. In Clarke’s head and bones. His admission ignites something in Clarke. Her hands turn to fists and she cocks her head to the side. “You’ve done this before. And you’ve never lost.” He nods. She’ll lose. It’s terrifying to process. Statistically speaking, he has a better chance of winning. He’s already won twice. He’s played twice and knows how to win. He didn’t have to tell her anything. But it’s a game of luck and statistics. Just like when her mother would quiz her about statistics. Or when her father would ask her the probability of something happening. She would bullshit her way through but there was always some kind of pattern to it. Not now.

It sets Clarke off. Her fists strike at the window. Again. Again. And again. She pounds against it until she can feel the deep ache and she’s sure her skin is tearing. _Maybe she has lost her mind_ , she thinks as she throws her fists and screams. The outburst leaves her throat raw and her knuckles bleeding. She’s still screaming and hitting the wall when Bellamy gets up from the table.

He grabs her from behind, pulling her away. She kicks and flails out; for the first time in almost a year, she’s fighting back. Her feet and hands hit anywhere they can on him. She wants him to let go so she can break the window and get to whoever is on the other side. Who were they to decide how she died? Who were they that they thought they could **make** her die, make her end her own life. Why did they get to decide? Why were they her judge and jury but she had to be her own executioner? They were cowards.

“Princess, you need to calm down!” Bellamy isn’t letting go. They find themselves sitting on the floor now. Clarke isn’t letting up and Bellamy refuses to let go. What fuels her is knowing she has already had too many lasts. If she dies, she’ll have had her last of nearly everything in the past weeks. Her last drawing done, her last night in her cell, her last meal, her last time _seeing her mom_.

“I am not dying here!” She yells. One good punch lands against Bellamy’s face. He let’s go momentarily; long enough for her to reach for the gun and aim it at the window.

 

_‘click’_

_‘click’_

_‘click’_

 

Three blanks are gone from the chamber. She’s about the pull the trigger again when the gun is knocked from her hand. Bellamy grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her. “Are you trying to get both of us killed?” His grip is too tight and she kicks at his leg to get him to let go. “The gun doesn’t have bullets! It’ll just recharge every time you fire it!”

“We’re both going to die anyways! What does it matter?” She says through clenched teeth. He isn’t letting her go and she isn’t giving up. “We’re both prisoners, right? I’ve been in isolation for a damn year! Do you really think they’d just put me with someone else without killing me after? Clearly you aren’t here of your own will. They’re going to kill us both. In here or float us.” The words sink into both of them as she says them. Clarke wasn’t even sure of what she was saying until then. She’s right. It’s a burning hatred to know she’s right. One way or another, they won’t let her live. It’s shocking Diana Sydney let her live this long. Whatever Bellamy had done was clearly just as bad.

“I am here willingly.”


	2. And Count to Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out. Who will win the game?

There is only so much you can do for someone else before you’re giving up your own life for them. 

_ I am here willingly.  _

Clarke freezes. For a moment she feels like someone’s dumped freezing water over her head. The ice pours down her head and into her veins. She turns her head and looks up at him. They’re so close, she could count his eyelashes. “You’re doing this because you  _ want _ to?” He’s the one dumping the ice water on her now. She pushes herself away from him; she can’t get away from him quick enough. “What is  _ wrong _ with you? You want to do this!” She’s shouting again. Her throat is still sore from the screaming but she doesn’t let up. 

“I don’t want to be here.” Bellamy’s voice is even. It’s like he’s heard this before. Clarke narrows her eyes at him; he probably has. “You would do the exact same if you knew why I was here.” 

“Then tell me. What are they promising you that is so damn great,” She spits the word, “that you’d risk your life and mine.” 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches. He looks at her then to the window above their heads. He’s debating what all he can tell Clarke. “They let the winner go. If you manage to win three times, you’re set free. No record, no crimes.” He sounds like he’s pleading with her. Bellamy wants her to understand, he wants her to know he isn’t here for the fun. He hates this as much as she does if not more. But there’s only so much he can do.

“You expect me to believe that?” Clarke looks at him dubiously. “They will never let anyone go. They’ll never let  _ me _ go. Do you really think they’re,” She points to the window, “stupid enough to let someone who could expose them out? If they let anyone free, why wouldn’t that person tell people? Especially if they went through something like this  **three** times.” To Bellamy, Clarke is a mother scolding a child for something so unbelievably stupid. He hasn’t received this kind of reprimand in so long. It opens an ache in his chest. 

“You’re the first person to question me.” He says. He won’t look at Clarke; it’ll only put more weight to what she’s said. He swallows hard and pushes himself off the ground. Sitting back at the table takes more effort than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t want to believe Clarke, just as much as he needs to believe the Council. It was like this the first time; he couldn’t believe a damn thing they said. But what they promised… He had to try. Even if it meant possibly losing his life. It was worth it. It had to be.

“So, you’ve done this twice already?” There’s still the accusatory tone in Clarke’s voice. Bellamy doesn’t know why he thought she would understand. The people before her didn’t. Why would she be any different? Clarke would never understand the things he’s had to deal with. She would never understand the necessary sacrifices that needed to be made. “I’m taking your silence as a ‘yes’.” Clarke gets up and sits at the table. They’re right back to where they were. “This is really it then. They’re too cowardice to kill me themselves. So they’re going to make me do it myself.” Her fingers grip the table. Bellamy watches as her knuckles turn white, watches the internal struggle in her. Almost visible he can see something switch. She hangs her head and lays her hands flat on the table. “Alright,” She’s staring at the gun, “let’s do this.”  
  
“Clarke-,”

“No. Don’t say my name.” She clears her throat and sits up straight. “You were right. We don’t need to know anything about each other.” 

They’ve been in this room for forty-five minutes. Maybe even less. They’ve just seen each other go through a multitude of emotions. Seen each other freak out and yell. Given the Council exactly what they want. A sick show. There are four more shots in the chamber. Three are blank. One is a full charge meant to fry their brains in an instant. Neither Clarke or Bellamy has reached for the gun just yet. Clarke can’t muster the nerve to do so. Bellamy refuses to. They’ve sat like this now for minutes. It’s not at all the longest Bellamy has sat in silence; definitely not the longest for Clarke. She’s so use to sitting alone in absolute quiet, it’s just another day for her. Maybe her last day. 

“The longest I’ve been in this room is a day.” Bellamy says. Clarke won’t look at him, but he still talks. “The kid before you. He was barely seventeen; first time doing this. Like you. He refused to fight, refused to pull the trigger. Said,” Bellamy takes a sharp breath, “he said he didn't do it. The crime they sentenced him for. He wouldn’t tell me what they said he did. Just remained adamant he didn’t do it. That he shouldn’t be here. We sat here for a whole twenty-four hours.” Bellamy can see the boy’s face still. It’s only been a week since that time. He can see the kid’s pained look and hard eyes. 

“What happened after twenty-four hours?” Clarke says to the table. She’s still staring at one spot, refusing to move. 

“A guard came in. Said if we didn’t play, we’d both die. And it wouldn’t be a simple shock killing us.” Clarke nods her head like she was expecting the answer. “I did it first. Then him.” Bellamy stops. He hates remembering. He hates thinking of the momentary look of relief when the boy pulled the trigger. Right before the spark hit and then he was on the ground. 

Clarke finally looks up. “What was his name?” 

Bellamy doesn’t want to answer. “Atom.” The name rings some kind of bell for Clarke.

“What about the person before him?” There’s a dark look in Clarke’s eyes. 

He hesitates for a moment. “I don’t know her name. She was on her third round. For her it was just about getting through that one. Didn’t talk. Just said she was sorry it had to be like this. Then… then she was dead.” 

“Do you know for sure if anyone has made it through three rounds?” Clarke says. She watches the array of emotions crossing Bellamy’s face. With a sharp shake of his head, they’re back to silence. 

Neither of them is sure how long they’re sitting there for. It’s long enough for Clarke to realize how thirsty she is. Her stomach is aching with hunger pains that she’s too used to. It’s pointless to ask if they get any food or water, she concludes. Chances are the Council is bored with them anyways and no one is really watching. Looking at the window, she wonders if anyone is watching. Is her mom watching? Is Diana Sydney?  _ What about Wells? _ The thought ignites a new anger in her that’s quickly squashed. If not for him, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Her father would be alive and she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be waiting for her execution at her own hand. She wonders if he even knows she’s here. Would he care? After what he’d done would he really care about her life now? Clarke tries to push away the stomach-turning feeling she has thinking about him. He was her best friend. And she’d likely never see him again. 

More time has passed. They said they would play the game. Yet neither of them touched the gun. They just sat in the most passive silence either had experienced. If you asked Bellamy, he was sure they were on hour four. To Clarke, it felt like an eternity. Neither moved until the door opened. 

Clarke whipped her head around to see another guard coming into the room. Bellamy stiffened and rose from his chair. Behind the guard walked in Diana Sydney. Clarke zeroed in on her and balled her hands into fists. The older woman walked slowly into the room, taking the both of them in. Her hands were clasped behind her back. A bored look graced her face. 

“Both of you are alive, I see.” Sydney said. Clarke wanted to claw the smug tone away from her throat. “You’re on hour five. Usually we’d let you both waste away here but this is a special circumstance.” She looked at Clarke and tilted her head. “It seems your mother is abdicating for your release. She said you had no idea what you were saying when you said you’d tell everyone about the oxygen.” Clarke inhaled sharply. Of course her mother would do this. Abby would protect her daughter no matter what. Sydney turned her gaze onto Bellamy. “And you. You’re on your second round. Yet you won’t push Miss Griffin to play. Remember, it’s not  _ only _ your freedom you play for.” She turns to leave; the guard follows close behind. Sydney stops just outside the door and turns back. The smile on her face forced dread into Bellamy and Clarke. “You have half an hour. If both of you are alive by the end of it, you’ll greatly regret not taking advantage of our game.” The door slammed and locked tight behind her. 

Clarke felt herself shaking as she turned to Bellamy, who had a panicked look on his face. “Wh-what does she mean you aren’t playing only for yourself?” She waits for his answer. But he won’t meet her eyes and instead starts pacing. “Bellamy, who else are you doing this for?” She stands, reaching tentatively out for him. He pulls out of her reach and takes a step back. Alarmed, Clarke realizes she might have gotten Bellamy all wrong. 

“They let the person who goes through three rounds free. But I asked them to let someone else go in my place.” He runs a hand through his hair and stops his pacing. The look on his face could shatter a heart. 

Clarke shakes her head lightly. “Someone else? A friend? Girlfriend? Parent?” She tries. The distress he’s projecting has her more worried for the other person than even herself. Only slightly. “Bellamy?” She reaches out to touch his arm. He pulls back like he’s been burnt. 

“My sister.” Clarke’s hand freezes. He says the two words like they’re his defeat. “I’m not a prisoner, not really. I volunteered to be here, to do this. My freedom in exchange for my sister’s.” He finally looks at her. His eyes are glossy and now ringed red. 

“You have a sister? An illegal child?” Clarke whispers. Bellamy nods and wipes at his eyes. “You’re trying to save her. Not yourself.” It’s why he was so willing to get this over with at first. Why he told her there was no point in fighting, they would have to play. The realization feels like a knife to her chest. If she won, she would live another week. If she died, Bellamy would save his  _ sister _ . If she lived then not only one but possibly two people would die. If she died, two people would live. It’s a choking feeling. One that makes Clarke turn to the table and grab the gun. It’s heavier than before and she tries to keep her hands from shaking. She wasted three charges before. There are only four now. They both have a fifty-fifty chance. Maybe. She wasn’t good at probability before and definitely wasn’t now. 

“Clarke what are you-.”

“We have less than twenty minutes.” She looks at the gun. If you asked her what she honestly thought of it, she would say it’s the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen. It’s white like the room and she hates both of them. Her finger curls around the trigger as she lifts it up. So many thoughts are running through her head.  _ She’ll never get to say goodbye to her mom. _ It feels like someone’s ripped her chest open when she thinks it. She won’t get to tell Wells she’s sorry. Sorry for hating him and for telling him about her dad. She’ll never be able to draw again. Never get to see Earth from her tiny window in her cell. Or the sun. Never get to see the sun peaking over the planet’s edge. 

Bellamy looks alarmed and tries to pull the gun from her. Clarke takes a step away and shakes her head. They both know they have to do this. What are the chances the first one is the kill shot? “Take a deep breath.” Bellamy interrupts her internal monologue. He’s looking her right in the eyes. “Don’t think. It’s better not to.” He’s trying to comfort her, she realizes. Either of them could die and he’s comforting her. It brings a sob from her lips. “Close your eyes, it might help.” She does. She squeezes them shut as she places the cold metal of the gun to her temple. She squeezes the trigger.

 

‘ _ Click’ _

 

Her sobs echo in the room. She drops the gun back to the table and covers her eyes. She has to do that one more time. One final time. She shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. Clarke is too distracted with her own terror to realize Bellamy is already aiming the gun at himself. He looks so sure in the way he stands and breathes. His eyes are wide open though, watching her. When Clarke does calm herself, he pulls the trigger.

 

‘ _ Click’ _

 

Both of them stare in horror. Clarke stops breathing. Bellamy can’t hand over the gun. It’s like his body is reacting without his consent. His grip is tight on the trigger and he can’t make himself let go. Not when this girl is standing right in front of him sobbing. He almost pulls the trigger again. 

Almost. 

Bellamy sets the gun back onto the table. Adrenaline has replaced any fear in him. He only thinks of one thing, one person. He tries to think only of his sister. She’ll be okay once he wins this fucked up game. They both will. He’ll stand trial and maybe be floated anyways. But his sister will live and become an actual Ark citizen. It’s far too late to think of the value of his own life. He’s here for his sister and only her. If Sydney keeps her promise. He tries to only think of that as he watches Clarke pick the gun back up. 

“I’m scared.” She whispers. She sniffs and can’t bring herself to lift the gun any higher than her hip. Clarke takes a breath that doesn’t reach her lungs. “Tell my mom I love her. Please.” Her eyes are doing all the begging for her. “Tell her I love her and I’m sorry for the fights we use to have. And-,” she hesitates as she lifts the gun higher, so slow, “and tell Wells Jaha I forgive him. Tell him I forgive him and I miss our nights watching old shows. He’ll know what I mean.” The saddest of smiles touches her lips. It hits Bellamy right in the gut. He forces himself to watch as Clarke puts the gun back to her head. Without thought, he reaches out and takes her hand. He didn’t do this with the other two prisoners. He never even spoke to them this long. Never heard them ask for him to pass on a message. To give forgiveness. 

It breaks his heart. 

Bellamy squeezes her hand. Clarke squeezes the trigger.

 

_ ‘Click’ _

 

Clarke collapses to the ground. She drops the gun and let’s out the quietest sob. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around her stomach. She’ll live. Clarke can’t help the tears running freely down her cheeks. It’s only a guarantee for another week, but she gets to  _ live _ . The relief is welcomed and she can’t help the sobs and smile coming from her.  _ But Bellamy will die _ , it’s a whisper of a thought. The smile vanishes. She looks up at him. He’s standing so still. There’s only the sound of Clarke’s breathing in the room as she covers her mouth. “Oh gods.” Bellamy isn’t looking at her but the gun. It fell to the ground and lays just next to her. Clarke realizes why he hesitated to give it back to her. She could use it on herself again, give him the chance to live. For him and his sister to live. He had hesitated and would have given her that. 

But she can’t bring herself to pick the gun back up. 

Instead, Bellamy sits on the ground in front of her. There are tears streaking down his face but he remains silent. He takes a deep breath before grabbing the gun. Clarke almost reaches out to smack it away. Almost. She watches as he looks it over, inspecting. He nods once and smiles. It’s full of sorrow and dismay. Bellamy has gone through this already- twice- for nothing. His life will end, who knows what will happen to his sister. “I need you to find my sister. Her name is Octavia Blake. You tell her I did everything I could to keep her safe and I still failed. My sister, my responsibility. Tell her-,” He chokes and squeezes his eyes shut, “Please tell her I love her and I am so sorry for getting her caught. She didn’t deserve the life she had. She should have had a normal one and been the only child. Please, Clarke.” He opens his eyes. 

Clarke feels her soul being crushed. She nods again and again. “I promise. I’ll do whatever I can and find her. I promise.” She holds his free hand between both of hers. She holds it tight and against her chest. “I promise.” She wants to look away. She can’t stand to see this man die. All he wanted was his sister’s protection. It wasn’t something Clarke would ever relate too. But if it was anything like what she and Wells had before… She would keep her promise. She had no idea how but she would. She just needed to get through two more rounds. Just do the impossible. “May we meet again.” It’s a whisper against the skin of his hands. 

He smiles through his tears and brings the gun to his temple. “May we meet again, Clarke Griffin.” 

He pulls the trigger. 

 

**___________________** _

 

It’s been two weeks since Clarke met Bellamy. Two weeks since she watched a man die right in front of her for the second time in her life. She’ll never forget the way his body tensed up before falling to the ground. She had held his hand and screamed. She screamed and cried until the guards came and hauled her back to her cell. It barely did anything though. She screamed the rest of the day until they forced a needle into her skin to make her go to sleep. When she woke up, there were still tears in her eyes.

But here she is. Somehow, she’s made it through a second round. A girl with beautiful red hair had been the second round. Her pale skin and weary eyes had almost been the tipping point for Clarke. Her dreams were plagued with seeing Bellamy and now this girl, Zoe. She could see their bodies in front of her. Their blank eyes and the blood running from their ears every time she closed her eyes. She would never forget them. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to win the last round. She would never be able to forget the people she had to watch die. Never forget their tears and pleads and messages they had for her to tell. It was the only reason she was continuing at this point. 

She had made a promise. 

Clarke’s already back in the white room. She hopes it’s the final time she’ll ever have to be there. She hates the color now. The color and everything that will forever remind her of the game. She sits at the table with clenched fists. One more test and she’s free. Whether she dies or not, she’s free. Free of this place and everyone who thinks they can control her. It’s a thought that sits with her as the door opens. In walks the same guard as always. He walks in alone. Clarke feels uneasy. She hadn't had to wait for Zoe to come and she had been brought right in with Bellamy. She'd been thrown in. The guard waited in front of the open door.   


"What's going on?" Clarke asks. The guard only gives her a hard look. Clarke sits back in her chair and waits. Maybe this is for something else. There's the useless glimmer of hope that she won't play the game today. It's quickly diminished when she hears a commotion down the hall. The guard tenses. Clarke stands up and moves towards the back wall. Her eyes go wide when she sees the cause of the commotion. It's the next prisoner she has to play against. Tears immediately form and a scream builds it's way in her throat. 

It's like being knocked down and kicked once she is down. The prisoner is thrown into the room with her. Clarke feels faint and shakes her head as she rushes to the prisoner's side. The recognition is almost immediate and it tears her apart. 

" _Wells?_ " 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to have Octavia be the next prisoner. BUT someone changed my mind for me. I did write that part out though so if anyone wants to read that little bit, let me know. Maybe I'll put it as an alternate ending or something.


End file.
